Not an Atrox
by Cantica10
Summary: After returning to Pete's World for good, a sudden illness helps Rose to accept 10.5 and find her Doctor again. Fluff guaranteed.
1. Chapter 1

I am celebrating my high school graduation with writing! Yay! So here's a story for your enjoyment, created because now that finals are done I finally have ample time for writing. I suppose this story has no real reason other than the fact that I wanted to write something. I was just thinking about how Rose would react to 10.5 after The Doctor leaves her for a second time on Bad Wolf Bay, and since I've been in a mood lately, I've decided on angst and fluff. I do like to write angsty Rose that leads to Ten/Rose fluff… hmm… is that normal? Tell me that's normal.

Anyway, just to clear up any confusion, The Doctor in this story is meant to be interpreted as 10.5. When discussing the original, he will be referred to as such. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. (Yet. Anybody want to come storm BBC with me? We can share the spoils!)

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"Not an Atrox"

It was doubtless that Rose Tyler was depressed.

Nobody could blame her – not really. She'd spent a whole year working towards interdimensional travel in hopes to reclaim a life in her original universe and a place at the side of the famous Doctor from the battle at Cardiff. And once she'd gotten there at last, where did she end up? Right back in the world she'd been desperately trying to leave, standing on the beach where she'd gotten her heart destroyed, saying goodbye to the same man who had broken her heart… the man she loved with every fiber of her being.

It was confusing, however, to several of her friends and family members that she was as depressed as she was, when this time The Doctor had not left her alone. In fact, in the eyes of most people, he hadn't truly left her at all.

This new Doctor couldn't figure it out, either. He felt like the same man as the original. He had all the same memories, the same body, and to an extent, the same personality. The part of him that came from Donna had been slowly working its way out of his system, to term it loosely; in the past week since the departure of the TARDIS he had observed his temper flare less often and less intensely, and he was noticeably less belligerent.

The Doctor glanced over at the pot in which he'd planted the TARDIS coral given to him and Rose by the original Doctor. After that day at Bad Wolf Bay he had been sure Rose had accepted him as her Doctor, especially when he took into account the fact that he'd told her he loved her and she'd kissed him, but she had grown distant, and a week later she had hardly spoken to him. She'd barely even emerged from her bedroom.

To keep himself busy, he'd planted the coral and employed the techniques Donna had relayed to him. although he had been tweaking them until he found a way to increase the rate of growth not by 59, but 59 to the _power_ of 59. He felt rather brilliant (not that he didn't often feel rather brilliant, but this victory in particular was especially spectacular). Already it had sprouted into what looked an ordinary toothpick. Well, if it was going to exercise its chameleon arch, he supposed it was better for it to cloak itself as a common household item rather than, say, architecture from Parva, a civilization of people only six millimeters tall. Come to think of it, was there an equivalent to Parva in this dimension? He'd have to look into that – it'd be interesting to find out.

While The Doctor considered worlds that may or may not exist on their dimensional plane, Rose was in her bedroom battling an intense feeling of nausea and trying, for the eighth time in the last hour, not to break down. Rationality told her she shouldn't feel so distraught over the original Doctor's departure, that he hadn't left her – she still had him. But a stronger part of her was screaming it wasn't the same, it wasn't him.

She'd started feeling sick yesterday afternoon, and had forgone food since then for fear she'd throw up. She wasn't altogether sure she didn't have a fever at this point, but she wasn't hot; fairly cold, really. She was even shivering.

She wasn't quite sure what she wanted to do about such a circumstance. She felt rather ashamed of the way she'd holed herself up in the past week, but she couldn't bear to look at the new Doctor. It made her remember, and she didn't want to. She both wanted him and didn't, because he was The Doctor and not at the same time. And now she was sick, probably having caught some virus in Torchwood. It had seemed everyone was sick there the last time she'd made a visit, but she thought she'd been so careful…

Her mum and Pete were off on some trip, at a convention for inventions such as the ones he created, having left her and the new Doctor yesterday. They wouldn't be returning for another week. Rose sighed as she curled up in her bed trying to alleviate the pain which had settled in the pit of her stomach, wishing she had her mum. Childish, perhaps, but she couldn't recall a time when she'd been sick and her mum hadn't been there for her. No, all she had in the house with her was the new Doctor, and the thought of going to him for comfort only made her feel sicker when she piled on the humiliation of hiding pathetically in her bedroom all week.

Still, she couldn't shut herself up forever. Eventually The Doctor would notice she hadn't emerged for food, which she'd at least been doing rather periodically for a week. If he hadn't noticed already, that was. Best to go out and pretend to be all right for a bit, hole back up in her room until she felt good enough to go out again and repeat the process until she felt truly better or her mum got back – whichever came first.

Groaning slightly, Rose shifted up into a sitting position and flexed her achy limbs. Why did everything hurt when one was sick? Steeling her nerve (and her stomach) she got up and crossed the room to her mirror, grimacing at her reflection. She hadn't bothered with makeup for a week, so there wasn't any issue with smudged eyeliner or smearing mascara, but a week of on and off crying had taken its toll on her eyes, which were thoroughly bloodshot and felt only half-open. Looking at them made them water, and Rose tore her gaze off the mirror and rubbed them vigorously.

She got dressed in clothes not wrinkled or tear-stained to further add to the illusion of her well (enough) being and, with a centering breath, slipped out of her bedroom, wobbling slightly on legs that felt too weak to hold her weight. She could only pray that she wouldn't collapse.

She meandered down the hall, pausing for brief moments when the room spun, and went out to the living room, where she found The Doctor leaning back in an armchair and staring contemplatively at the growing TARDIS. It appeared to have taken the form of a toothpick.

Her heart throbbed painfully when she saw The Doctor. Oh, he was identical to her Doctor, the one she'd traveled with for over two years. The Time Lord. This Doctor was very much human, and that was both wonderful and… terrifying. It was new. And if she could only open her heart to him, they would grow old together, a prospect she had never been forced to consider with the other Doctor.

He sensed her presence before she was quite ready to make herself known, and she flinched when he turned around and grinned to see her out of her room. He _missed_ her. The body may have been new, but he had all the memories of the previous Doctor, and with Rose out of sight so often, there was an almost hollow sense of emptiness knowing she was just down the hall but unwilling to see him. "Rose!" he greeted her, resisting the urge to rise to his feet and wrap her in an urgent embrace. He hadn't touched her since their kiss on Bad Wolf Bay. After the old Doctor and Donna had left with the TARDIS he'd tried to take her hand, but she'd stuffed both hands in her pockets and refused to look at him more than absolutely necessary.

She bit the inside of her cheek and fidgeted uncomfortably, shifting her weight from one foot to the other before replying with a rather weak, "Hello."

The Doctor's smile faltered. It had been over a day since he'd last seen her, and all he got for his suffering was a hello? He rose but made no movement for her, merely turning to face her more directly. There wasn't any point in asking what was wrong – he knew. He was the wrong Doctor. But what he wouldn't give to be the right one for her… "Is there something you need? Anything at all?" he offered. Food. Company. A snog. Something. Anything to keep her in his presence as long as possible. Anything that would take time enough to convince even a small part of her that he and the old Doctor were one in the same.

"Just, um… I was going to make some lunch," Rose mumbled, staring at a point somewhere beyond The Doctor's right shoulder to avoid looking him in the eye. "I was wondering if you wanted to… to join me." She seemed to be struggling to speak the words and there was a part of her hoping he would refuse, but he grasped at the offer and clung to it, overjoyed that she had invited his presence.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" he bounded to her side and grinned at her, but the gesture was wasted as she still wasn't looking at him. He just wanted to feel her eyes on him. Scrutinizing her almost pleadingly, he noticed something… off about her. Her coloring. She was too pale. And were those beads of sweat on her forehead?

When he reached for her hand, it was more than for just the need to feel her palm against his. She flinched away from his touch, but his hand was against hers long enough for him to register that she was warm… too warm. There was something the matter further than just her discomfort with him. There was something physically wrong with her. Had she come out with the intention to tell him? And, more importantly, why didn't she?

Rose went as quickly as she could into the kitchen on her weak legs and began opening cupboards in pursuit of something that wouldn't make her feel sicker. The Doctor followed her, hands in his pockets as he watched her. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it immediately. She was slower, her countenance more withdrawn even than it had been in the past week. Waiting to regain his full brain capacity was infuriating. If his mind were working at its usual rate, he would have noticed the moment she came into the sitting room.

Rose felt The Doctor's eyes on her the entire time she was perusing cabinets. Nothing sounded appealing. The very thought of food made her feel sick. Biting her bottom lip, she turned to him and met his eye for the first time, however briefly, and asked, "What are you looking at?"

"Oh, nothing," he shrugged, opening a cabinet himself and rifling through cans. His fingers wrapped around a can of soup and he pulled it out. "I was only thinking that if you're having a bit of trouble finding food I could make some of this. Give you a bit of a chance to sit down… talk to me a bit… for a while."

Rose's body tensed. If the first thing he went for was soup, then he knew something was wrong. Even more so, he had suggested she sit down. People only suggested other people sit down if there was something wrong with them. "I'm perfectly capable of finding something for myself, thanks." More to prove herself than anything, she grabbed the first thing her fingers brushed against – bread. She would work with that, then. Pursing her lips as her stomach churned, she went to the stove and turned it on before snatching a flat pan and putting it over the heating metal with a stony expression.

"So," The Doctor began, sidling around the island in the kitchen's center to stand a Rose's side. "What are you making?"

"Grilled cheese. That all right with you?" Rose grumbled resentfully. Why was he hovering? Yet another bad sign. She was regretting her decision to seek him out. How stupid it had been! She should have known he would be able to tell there was something wrong.

"Fine, fine," The Doctor affirmed nonchalantly, trying to deduce whether her irritable outburst was because she was uncomfortable with him or because she was ill. She hadn't been particularly caustic the past few days when he spoke to her, merely dejected, so he supposed the latter was the more veritable reason. Picking up a spoon left lying on the island and twirling it in his fingers, he inquired with as much indifference as he could manage, "So, what have you been doing in your bedroom for the last week?"

Rose clenched her teeth in frustration as she spread butter haphazardly over two pieces of bread, both from the probing question and the pain stabbing incessantly at her stomach. There were several ways she could answer. Crying. Wanting to die. Wishing to fade from this dimension and back into the original Doctor's. But all those answers were terrible, and she didn't really want to leave. Overall, she really just wanted to get over the old Doctor and start her life with this new one, but she didn't know how. "Thinking," she replied at last, and The Doctor was grateful for a response at all, albeit a slightly nebulous one. "Just thinking. There's a lot to think about."

The Doctor sighed to himself, and it went unnoticed by Rose, who was more preoccupied with laying the bread onto the pan and placing a square of cheese over one of the slices than listening to The Doctor. "Yes. Yes, I'd say there is," he muttered, watching Rose's hands intently. They were trembling.

He tried thinking about a great number of things to talk with her about, but nothing in particular came to mind, so instead he watched her trembling hands, and the longer Rose handled a spatula and manipulated the bread, the shakier her hands became.

After a few painful minutes for both of them, The Doctor increasingly wanting to confront Rose and force her to stop exerting herself and Rose determined to soldier on no matter how fatigued she was growing exerting the effort from such a simple task, Rose set the spatula aside and slid the sandwich onto a plate. She offered it to The Doctor at once before beginning the long and grueling process again.

"Thank you," he said quietly, a little guiltily. He didn't want to challenge her outright, but it was almost too awful to watch her wear herself out again with the second sandwich. He nibbled at the crusts of the one she had given him and observed her until he could tell that the way she leaned against the counter was for the purpose of keeping herself upright, because it was a struggle for her to even stand. It was sheer willpower, he guessed, that kept her going until after what seemed like an eternity (and he should know, being part Time Lord and whatnot) the second sandwich had been slid onto a plate and the stove shut off. By that time Rose was breathing too hard for it to be natural and the sweat on her brow was far too abundant to be from merely standing over the stove for ten minutes.

Now Rose could feel that she had a fever. She was too hot, and her body shook with incessant shivers. Beads of sweat coated her brow, but she was still holding onto fragments of hope that The Doctor hadn't noticed and was therefore too wary to wipe them away. Her hip pressed heavily against the countertop to keep herself standing on her trembling legs. The scents that the sandwiches she'd made were wafting off were nauseating.

"You all right, Rose?" The Doctor asked in a final bid to get her to admit there was something very wrong, but she admitted nothing, only nodding her head and reaching for her plate with a grimace.

Her stomach turned and twisted in a sickening array of acrobatics. Willing herself to pick up the sandwich, Rose took the tiniest bite that she could manage without arousing suspicion as to a lack of appetite, and worked around her gag reflex. Her body fought against swallowing, but she forced the mouthful down anyway – with immediate consequences.

The Doctor watched Rose turn a rapid and unsightly shade of green, and discarded his plate at once, reaching towards her with the full intent of revealing his knowledge of her illness and making her go back to bed. "Rose," he said sternly. "Are you _sure_ you're all right?"

No, no she wasn't. Not at all. With a flustered cry, Rose tossed her plate aside onto the counter and rushed out of the kitchen, a hand clamped over her mouth and the other holding her stomach. The Doctor called her name and raced after her, following her path to the bathroom and arriving just in time to see Rose emptying the contents of her stomach into the porcelain basin of the toilet, her single bite of lunch a now bitter, forgotten memory. "Oh, Rose…"

She slumped against the side of the tub, trembling and with tears threatening to fall as they gathered in the corners of her eyes. The acrid taste of bile lingered in the back of her mouth and to make matters worse, The Doctor was standing in the doorway with a look of mingled pity and concern displayed in his handsome features as he stared at her. "Go away," she begged him in a choked voice, burying her face in her hands. "Please just go away. This is humiliating enough already."

"Humiliating?" he repeated in astonishment. Of all the things to worry over, she had chosen that? At least she seemed to be ignoring the fact that he wasn't the proper Doctor for the time being. He moved to her side and lowered himself down next to her, leaning his back against the tub. "You're just sick. There's no shame in that. We saw far worse things than this in all our adventures in the TARDIS."

Rose felt too miserable to even think that this was not the same Doctor she traveled with. She appreciated that he was trying to help, but somehow the comfort only made her feel worse. A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek, and as she hastily wiped it away, The Doctor wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Why didn't you tell me you were ill?"

"I don't know," Rose mumbled, her cheeks turning pink. It was a vibrant color in comparison to her pallid skin. "I suppose I already felt pathetic enough."

The Doctor sighed, knowing it was no use to try convincing her that the way she had been coping with a major new development in her life wasn't unusual and certainly not pathetic. She was too far gone for that. Instead he brushed a few sweat-soaked strands of hair away from her face and put a hand on her forehead. She arched into his cool touch. The Doctor whistled. "That is quite the fever, that is," he said, a little bit impressed. Even when Rose got sick, she had to get fantastically sick. "How are you holding up?"

"A bit better."

"You're not going to throw up again?"

She shook her head.

"All right, then." He stood up and helped her to her feet, making sure she was all right to walk before he nudged her in the direction of her bedroom. "Back to bed with you. I'll be along in a minute. Now, scoot."

He set off down the hall in the opposite direction, leaving Rose to make her way back to her room and wonder what he meant by he'd be along. He meant he intended to come back to her side? But then, it was him. The man who couldn't resist being there for a person who needed help. Not that she needed _help_, per say, but of course he would want to take care of her. That was who he was.

Her first course of action was to change out of her jeans and t-shirt into something more suited to the attire of a person with a fever. A tank top and ratty old sweatpants it was. She owned actual pajamas, of course, but she didn't particularly fancy wearing pajama pants with cartoon characters in front of The Doctor. Crawling into bed, she opted for propping herself up against her pillows rather than lying down and burrowing beneath the covers, curious as to what The Doctor would do upon his arrival. The voice in the back of her head that persisted in whispering this Doctor was not _her_ Doctor was buried beneath the onslaught of affection that had come with hearing his tender voice as he reassured her, and feeling his arm around her. She'd missed that a lot more than she cared to openly admit. If this was how it would be between them then she couldn't remain hostile, and any resistance she had left would crumble. A small part of her secretly wanted that.

His arrival was accompanied by three sharp knocks, and she told him it was all right to enter before he came in, carrying a glass of water in one hand and setting it down on her bedside table. Not bothering with so much as a greeting, he whipped a thermometer out of his pocket and stuck it under Rose's tongue before proceeding to put his glasses on and pull the sonic screwdriver from inside his jacket and run it over her body, the blue light glowing at the end.

Rose's eyes widened the minute she saw the familiar device, and she indicated it with a noise of inquiry, as she couldn't speak with the thermometer in her mouth. The Doctor grinned as he pulled the screwdriver back and explained, "It's not _his_; it's one of the spares. I grabbed one before he left us in this universe. After all, what sort of Doctor would I be without a screwdriver?"

The corners of Rose's lips twitched, and as soon as he'd plucked the thermometer out of her mouth she smiled as she looked at him. He'd even kept a pair of glasses. She hadn't let herself see it before now, but he really was just like the original Doctor.

The Doctor examined the reading on the thermometer first and informed Rose that she had a fever of 39.2 degrees Celsius before looking intently at the screwdriver for a result. It wasn't as easy to read as it was when he was full Time Lord, but he'd been getting the hang of it and it was much easier than it had been a week ago. The first time he'd used it in pursuit of information (the toaster hadn't been working quite right and he had wanted a diagnostic before getting to work sonicking it) he'd been worried he wouldn't be able to interpret the readings it gave at all, but he'd managed it and with continual practice was regaining his old speed reading it. It took him fifty-one seconds this time. "Flu," he finally said, tucking his screwdriver back into his inside pocket. "Ordinary human flu. You should be recovered in a few days."

"Good news, then. I didn't catch some Dalek disease in that last battle," Rose said.

"Couldn't possibly have. The Daleks got rid of sickness long ago. Sterilization is what comes with encasing yourself in a metal shell," The Doctor informed her, pulling a bottle out of his pocket next and shaking out two small white pills. "Antiviral medication," he explained before Rose had the chance to ask, handing them to her along with the glass of water he'd brought. "This world is wonderfully advanced, medically. Nowhere near New Earth's level of expertise, but certainly more advanced than your old world at this time period."

Didn't she know it. After almost two years on this world, she had definitely noticed that there weren't nearly as many tragic deaths from cancer or other diseases (and she had verified they existed on this parallel world), and when she had broken her leg when training with this world's version of Torchwood, it had taken all of two hours for her bone to be set and healed completely.

"Go on now, drink up."

Rose obediently took the pills, drinking the entire glass of water with them. The Doctor nodded his approval and pried the glass away from her fingers before setting it back on her bedside table. "There you go. Those should help."

"Thanks," Rose said. Almost immediately she felt tired, and she wondered whether those pills had any sleeping draught in them. Probably, considering the way it was becoming a struggle to keep her eyes open. She watched The Doctor move a few articles of clothing off a chair and drag it to her bedside before seating himself and removing his glasses at last, laying them on her bedside table next to the empty glass rather than putting them back in his pocket. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to," she said, attempting to be gracious. In all honesty, she was delighted for the attention. Maybe it was just the fever, but she had lost all thoughts of this Doctor being the wrong one. At the moment, he was _her_ Doctor, just as compassionate and thoughtful as always.

"What else would I be doing?" he asked almost in awe, settling himself in the chair. "Besides, it would be downright cruel to leave you alone. In the entire universe, there's only a handful of species that don't take care of their sick or injured. The Atrox and Malum, for example. And I'm no Atrox, thank goodness."

There he went again, talking about alien races Rose had never heard of. Maybe she'd ask about them. When she wasn't so tired…

The Doctor grinned at her and added, "And just between you and me, I rather enjoy this taking care of you bit." A pause, and a sigh. "I've missed you, Rose."

She swallowed hard, tears threatening again. "I… I've missed you, too," she admitted in a whisper. It was so hard to remain awake, but she didn't want to fall asleep just yet. She wanted this for a while longer. What if, when she woke up, things were the same as they had been all week? What if she didn't… love him again when she woke up?

The Doctor stifled a small chuckle when he saw how hard she was fighting sleep. Those pills had been guaranteed to knock her out for a few hours at the least, and there was really no use trying to prevent the inevitable. She was only wearing herself out more. Besides, didn't she understand that sleep was good for humans when they were ill? "Go to sleep, Rose," he commanded gently, silently praying she wouldn't pose an argument.

She didn't. With a soft sigh, she shut her eyes, and The Doctor dared to lean forward and brush his lips against her fevered brow as she drifted off into unconsciousness. Purely on a whim, he rested his fingertips against her temple, shut his eyes, and concentrated very hard on every good moment with her that he could remember, all the happy moments, lingering a bit on the memory of their kiss a week ago. He imagined the memories of those moments flowing through his body and to his fingertips. In his mind he saw a door, and he gave it a mental nudge. It swung open and permitted him access to Rose's subconscious, and he released the memories and allowed them to flow into her dreams.

When he opened his eyes and pulled his hand away, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face as he did so, there was the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

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Figured I might post this in two parts. Next chapter should be up in a few days, if I get people telling me they want this continued. Please tell me if you like this! I do this thing primarily for my own entertainment, but if others derive some pleasure out of it, that's great too! So, review!

On a tangent note, I saw a picture last week of David Tennant looking highly condemning with the caption "David Tennant: you should be ashamed by some of the fanfictions you've written about him." I very much hope this isn't one of them!

Anyway, tell me what you thought (like, dislike, in character or out, that sort of thing). Thanks for reading! And, once again, Chapter Two should be out in the next couple of days.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for being patient! Here's Chapter Two, and I hope you all are getting out there and spreading Bad Wolf across the world for Bad Wolf Day! I'd love to hear your stories about that… where did you leave your Bad Wolf?

Disclaimer: _Doctor Who_ does not belong to me. Nor does _V for Vendetta_, but we'll get to that in a moment. For now, enjoy.

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When Rose woke up, she was shivering with cold, though she knew her fever couldn't have been gone since she still felt clammy. She heard the rustle of pages fluttering and glanced at her bedside in time to see the Doctor tossing aside a book and shifting himself into a more attentive position. He grinned as she blinked sleep out of her eyes. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," she replied groggily, pulling herself up into a sitting position. "Have you been sitting there all night?"

"Not all night, no," The Doctor said, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I tidied up your room a bit. There was just so much stuff lying around everywhere… found that book while I was at it." He indicated the novel he'd tossed aside. "It's actually quite an interesting read. Incredible, the sort of ideas humans come up with about time travel."

The book in question was a novel Rose had purchased some two months previously but discarded after the first three chapters. It was about a time traveler, but having experienced the real thing she found the plots unappealing and the futures the author had fabricated no less than ludicrous. Plus, it had still hurt far too much to consider time travel. The thoughts had led her to the TARDIS and to The Doctor, and she'd set the book aside with a renewed vigor for helping Torchwood to perfect the interdimensional travel devices.

"How long have I been asleep?" Rose asked, shoving her hair away from her face. It was damp with sweat. She grimaced.

"Let's see… you took the pills at, what, 3 in the afternoon? That would make it just about nineteen hours. It's ten in the morning."

"I slept for nineteen hours?!" Rose asked in disbelief, somewhat horrified. She'd never slept that long before. That was almost a whole day!

"I have to admit, those pills worked better than I expected," The Doctor confessed, rummaging around in his pockets. "I expected you to be awake a few hours ago. I was getting a little worried that I'd misinterpreted the sonic's reading and you had something worse than just the flu, but I scanned you again and the results were the same… ah, here we go!" He pulled the thermometer from his pocket with a look of triumph.

"Where did you get that jacket?" Rose asked. She hadn't noticed before, as it was such a normal thing to see on him, but she'd only just realized that the trench coat he was wearing at present couldn't possibly be the same as the original's, as he had been wearing it when she'd last seen him – getting back into the TARDIS with Donna Noble.

"Your mum saw it in a shop down the street and picked it up for me. Brilliant, isn't it?" The Doctor asked, a little gleeful. "I even managed to get the sonic to make the pockets bigger on the inside!"

Just like his old jacket. More and more Rose was forgetting to make the distinction between this Doctor and the original. No, not forgetting: neglecting. That was a better word for it. She didn't want to make distinctions anymore.

The Doctor twirled the thermometer twice in his fingers and said, "No more stalling. Now, open up."

Rose didn't bother trying to tell him she hadn't been stalling, only genuinely curious, as she parted her lips and let him stick the thermometer under her tongue. He chatted on about faulty plot lines in the novel he'd picked up and Rose only half-listened for the couple minutes it took for the instrument to get a proper reading, and he took it and observed the results with alarming speed. Rose guessed he was more worried about her then he'd originally let on. "38.5," he said with apparent disappointment. "I thought for sure it would be lower than that."

"I wish," Rose sighed, looking around her bedroom. The Doctor had certainly straightened it up. Her books were organized properly and nothing remained on the floor. A rattling noise diverted her attention, and she looked back towards The Doctor. He had pulled a bottle from his pocket and was shaking out another two pills, these ones faintly pink. "Not more," she complained half-heartedly with a small groan.

"Oh, stop your whining, they won't put you to sleep like the last ones," The Doctor scolded her teasingly. "Look, the label says right here, non-drowsy… oh."

"What?"

"It appears I missed a rather important instruction," The Doctor admitted, running a hand through his hair and tousling it into almost comical dishevelment. "These are meant to be taken with food."

Rose grimaced. "Yuck."

"Antiviral meds, Rose; they're important. And now that we're approaching the topic, you haven't eaten anything but a bite of a sandwich in what, two days? You need to get some food into your system."

Her stomach twisted with both emptiness and nausea, but she really didn't want to risk filling it and expelling the contents… again. "I'm not hungry," she lied quickly. Of course, her stomach chose that moment to growl rather unhelpfully.

The Doctor suppressed the sound of amusement in his throat. "That wouldn't have convinced me even without the growling," he informed her, tugging her bed sheets off her body. "Come on. Kitchen. Now. If you're good I'll even let you choose which kind of soup I'm making."

Rose sighed but got out of bed, stumbling slightly on wobbly legs. The Doctor caught her in his arms, giving a brief thought to her closeness as she gripped his arms, leaning her body against his as she regained her balance. She hadn't been this near to him, so much of her pressed against him, since their shared kiss a week ago. He could feel her fever, soaking through her clothes and his alike to sear his skin.

Rose let out a long, shuddery breath and looked up into The Doctor's eyes. He smiled reassuringly. "You all right?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, releasing his arms and taking an unsteady step back.

Her knee buckled almost at once and The Doctor caught her again. "No, you're not," he accused gently, allowing her a moment to catch her breath again. "You know… you can tell me when there's something wrong," he added quietly, never berating the impulse to draw her closer to him and wrap her in the embrace his body had been aching for for a week.

Tears gathered in the corners of Rose's eyes as she considered the anguish within his voice, buried somewhere beneath his forced tone of straightforwardness. She tried discreetly wiping them away, but The Doctor saw them nonetheless. "I… I don't want to put you out," she mumbled feebly. It was a half-truth only. She hadn't wanted to ask anything of him after she'd been so awful to him by avoiding him for a week. She could only now begin to imagine what she'd put him through. How could she have been so selfish? She had never considered what he must feel like with all of this… no; the only feelings she'd thought about had been her own.

The Doctor shook his head and, without warning, swept her up off her feet and into his arms. She instinctually locked her arms around his neck for fear of falling. "What are you doing?" she gasped, taken aback by the sudden flurry of motion.

"Carrying you to the kitchen; what does it look like?" The Doctor asked as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. That may very well have been, but she hadn't expected him to actually carry her.

As he carried her down the hall, The Doctor had the fleeting thought that, should Jackie have been home to see him being so intimate with her daughter, he would have been given a viscous slap that would result in a sore jaw and possibly a bruise.

He set her down on a chair in the kitchen behind the bar and filled her another glass of water before he put a pot over the stove and turned it on and then took to rummaging through the cupboards. She stayed put, both because she wasn't entirely sure her legs could hold her yet and because The Doctor had told her to, sipping at the water and offering input as to the cans he pulled out and set on the counter. Not tomato, she didn't fancy that even on a good day. The taste of potato soup was fine, but sounded much too heavy for her stomach to handle. Eventually, having gone through several different options and dwindling supplies of acceptable broths, The Doctor poured a can of chicken soup into the pot and started stirring the mixture, grimacing at the carrots. He didn't like carrots in the slightest.

The Doctor quickly grew bored of the domesticity of making soup, and impatient for his task to be done, he pulled out the sonic screwdriver and adjusted the settings until the stove's pace quickened and the broth was finished cooking in less than three minutes. He distributed it into two bowls, his portion quite a bit larger than hers, and retrieved two spoons before sliding a bowl across the counter to Rose, leaning against the opposite end so he could watch her while he picked carrot bits out of and then partook in the contents of his own bowl.

Rose was obviously struggling with the prospect of food. She took her spoon and swirled the pieces of carrots and noodles in the bowl, watching the whirlpool she created, scooped the soup into her spoon and raised it to her lips, and then lowered it again with the broth still held in the utensil. She repeated this process three or four times before The Doctor finally asked, "Having a bit of trouble, there?"

She considered telling him she was fine before remembering his request not ten minutes previously, so instead she sighed and replied honestly, "My stomach churns every time I think of eating anything."

He grinned and joked lightly, "Ah, good. I was beginning to think you were making a silent commentary on my cooking." He could see he had amused her, but the smile tweaking the corners of her lips still wasn't enough to distract him from the fact that she needed to eat. "Just a few mouthfuls," he pleaded softly.

She bit her lip briefly before raising the spoon to her mouth once more, this time the utensil disappearing past the seam of her lips. She swallowed quickly and suppressed the urge to gag. The soup itself was perfectly fine, but her body felt as though it were repelling anything with substance. She looked up at The Doctor and found him looking at her with an expression of encouragement, and she somehow found the willpower to make it through several more spoonfuls before her stomach was churning too disturbingly to swallow anymore.

The Doctor picked up her bowl and his the moment she discarded her spoon and carried them to the sink, rinsing them out before returning to Rose's side. He got the little pink pills out again and handed them to her, and she took them without hesitation, drinking what water was left in her glass with them. Once she'd set it back down on the counter, The Doctor covered one of her warm and slightly trembling hands in his and looked her in the eye. "Thank you."

If she hadn't been flushed with fever, she would have blushed.

Patting her hand a couple of times before withdrawing his, he asked, "So, what would you like to do? Back up to your room to sleep some more? No? The library? Hunt up a couple of Agatha Christie novels? Did I tell you I met her? Wonderful woman. Brilliant mind. No? A film, then?"

She considered that option once offered and nodded. It was a quiet activity, and excuse enough to share the couch with The Doctor for a couple of hours. She hopped off the chair and staggered a little, clutching the counter for support very briefly until she had confirmed that yes, she could stand on her own, and went into the living room, where the TARDIS in its pot now looked like a stick of gum. She smiled fondly at it. Give it five years and she and The Doctor would be back to the vortex, the whole of time and space in a new universe to explore. It grew more and more, noticeably bigger every day.

Rose sat down on the couch and pulled a blanket off the arm, wrapping herself in it as The Doctor came into the room, took a moment to marvel at the TARDIS, and perused the cabinet filled with DVDs. "What say you, hm? Your mum and Pete must like movies an awful lot… aw, look, Disney classics! They're just the same in this dimension as the other one!"

"Just put on whatever's in the DVD player," Rose suggested, not wanting to go through the process of choosing something she wanted to watch when all she really wanted was a time filler. If it was completely unbearable, they always had the option of switching it out for, say, _The Lion King_.

The Doctor didn't bother with physically turning on the television with either the manual controls on the monitor or the remote; his sonic screwdriver was perfectly adequate to perform all functions needed to watch a DVD. He sat next to Rose on the couch, pointed the device at the telly, and in ten seconds the title menu of _V for Vendetta_ was playing on the screen.

"One of Pete's favorites," Rose explained when the Doctor gave her an inquisitive look. "I've never actually seen it before, so I'm not entirely sure if it's identical to the other dimension's. Mum tells me she couldn't spot many differences, so it's either the same or really close. You ever seen it?"

"Bits and pieces," The Doctor affirmed. Something about blowing up parliament, right? And a man who always wore a mask. "This all right with you, then?"

"Yeah, it's fine," Rose shrugged, and The Doctor pointed his screwdriver at the television again. The opening sequence began playing and he settled into his seat. Not moments later, Rose was curled into his side, her cheek on his shoulder. The Doctor was somewhat startled by her sudden attachment, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. This closeness was what he'd been… well, pining for since their kiss.

By the time V had infiltrated the TV station and all but kidnapped the main character, Rose's stomach was churning dangerously. During the scene with the corrupt priest, she got the awful feeling of mixed dread and panic that accompanied the feeling of being about to vomit, and Rose leapt to her feet and scurried out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. The Doctor leapt to his feet and raced closely after her, this time arriving in time to hold her hair away from her face as her stomach rejected the soup he had made for her just about an hour earlier. He'd never been really sick before, not the way Rose was now, and it honestly seemed like the last thing he'd ever want to do. His heart lurched every time she gagged and convulsed and cried from the discomfort of having the flu and the embarrassment of having the display of such sickly happenings witnessed.

After ten minutes, Rose finally felt as though she was going to cease vomiting, by which time she was half sitting in The Doctor's lap and half slumped against the side of the tub, her head on his chest and her fever raging. She was almost sure it had spiked up again, but now that this part was over would begin to come back down.

The Doctor sighed and lifted her up off the bathroom floor, waiting patiently as she brushed her teeth to erase the taste of bile and then splashed cold water over her face. Maybe she needed more sleep. Would that help to fight the virus better than having her stay awake? Selfishly, he wanted her awake. When she was asleep, it was like she wasn't there with him. Sure, she was physically present, but he couldn't talk to her. Maybe he should catch some sleep too, now that he thought about it. Since he was human now, he needed three times as much sleep as his Time Lord self had needed. Since Rose had gotten sick, he'd spent a few hours dozing off in that chair by her bedside, in between tidying up her things and flipping through that book of hers that he'd found.

He brought her back out to the living room and gave her the sonic so she could rewind the film to where she had left off before he went back to the kitchen to fetch another glass of water. Since she couldn't keep food down and therefore wouldn't be able to take any more antiviral meds until she could, the new plan was to keep her hydrated.

For the first time in The Doctor's experience, Rose was doing as she was told. The Doctor attributed her obedience to the lethargy that came with illness, but in all truthfulness it was guilt that fueled her compliance; she didn't want to hurt The Doctor any more. But whatever it was, lethargy or guilt, by the time the film had reached its end Rose had downed six glasses of water without complaint or argument.

She wasn't tired, but then he hadn't expected her to be quite yet, not after she had gotten nineteen hours of sleep, so she took him up on his offer to go to the library, where they found the parallel world's version of Agatha Christie's novels and The Doctor was delighted to find that this universe's Agatha had written two books more than the other dimension's. He took one of them and offered Rose the other, but she shook her head and asked if he'd just read to her instead, just as they had sometimes done in the library in the TARDIS. She ignored the fact that it was technically the other Doctor who she had done that with when she requested it.

The Doctor had been unable to deny her – actually, he quite liked the idea – and by the time an hour had passed and they'd reached chapter four, he was seated at one end of the couch in the library, glasses clad, while Rose occupied the rest of it, lying with her feet against one armrest and her head in the Doctor's lap, a content smile on her lips. She liked the storyline, but she didn't like it nearly as much as just listening to his voice, the voice that she'd spent two years missing not so long ago.

As he rounded off chapter four and prepared to begin chapter five, Rose whispered, "I'm sorry."

He paused and looked down at Rose from the pages of the book, somewhat astonished by the out-of-the-blue apology. Slightly timid, he rested a hand on her head and ran his fingers through her hair. "Why's that, Rose?"

"I was being stupid all week. I… I didn't even think about what I was doing to you. And I'm sorry about that." He felt a drop of water soak through his pants leg. Oh, no. She was crying.

"It's all right, Rose. I understand."

"It's not all right," she protested tearfully. The Doctor never had understood humanity's fondness for masochism when they were upset.

"Sshh, Rose, of course it is. You were confused. But you're not anymore… are you?" he asked hopefully, holding his breath as he waited for her answer.

"No. I'm not confused. I just… I missed you so much, and then I got it in my head that you couldn't be the same as him… but I was wrong. You're just like him. Except for you're human. And that makes it… almost _better_."

Now The Doctor was quite perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"I never stopped to think about what it was going to be like if I stayed with you… the other Doctor for forever. I was going to get old. He wouldn't. He would regenerate, become a new man… with you, I don't have to worry about moving while you stand still. We're the same now. We can have a normal life, you and me. Together… forever."

"Well, normal until the TARDIS finishes growing," The Doctor pointed out amusedly.

Rose giggled. "Yeah… I guess we'll have to get a house or something until then. A proper house. We can't stay at my mum and Pete's forever."

"A proper house with doors and things," The Doctor said, shivering exaggeratedly. "Carpets. Me, living in a house! Now that, that is terrifying."

The resurrection of the familiar line made Rose grin. It was from their days travelling in the TARDIS, when they thought they'd been stuck. They'd rather jokingly discussed living together… she had never guessed they'd make such a suggestion reality, yet here it was!

"Is that what you want, Rose?" The Doctor asked softly.

She smiled at his doubt. That wasn't like the old Doctor. It was very… human. But it was cute. "Yeah. It's what I really want." After a pause, she took a deep breath and added, "You're what I really want, Doctor."

The fact that she called him Doctor, which she hadn't done in a week, did it for him. Incredibly sentimental all of a sudden, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. When he pulled away, he felt brave enough to utter the words that had been playing over and over in his head all week, words he had whispered in her ear at Bad Wolf Bay."I love you, Rose Tyler."

She didn't hesitate to reply. "I love you, too."

* * *

Please feel free to _aaaawwww_ from the fluffiness of it all.

So, like I mentioned, today is Bad Wolf Day, yay! My sister and I (known on this site as Nerdfighter in Training) are spending today spreading Bad Wolf across our city and then going to see Benedict Cumberbatch in the new _Star Trek_. We're huge _Sherlock_ geeks. And _Doctor Who_ geeks, obviously. And don't get me started on yesterday's _Lord of the Rings_/ _The Hobbit_ marathon…

I really do want to hear your Bad Wolf stories! Tell them to me! They might give us some good ideas! We'll be sticking Bad Wolf bookmarks in _Doctor Who_ related books at the local Barnes & Noble, drawing Bad Wolf on street corners in chalk, writing Bad Wolf on my car's rear window, and putting it on the specials board at the restaurant I work at.

If you're wondering why _V for Vendetta_, it's because I found BBC America and the first thing they were playing when I switched over to it was that movie. And also, I love that film.

I'm writing an epilogue chapter for this (five years later, that sort of thing). So stay tuned, it'll be out in a couple of days. In the meantime, I have another Doctor Who story, a oneshot, out there that you may enjoy. Plenty of fluff there, I promise! It's called "We Have Time." It's long, which some of you may like. Or not, that's cool too.

Happy Bad Wolf Day, eyerybody!


	3. Chapter 3

It's been way too long since I've posted anything on this site... college is kicking my butt on time. I hope you enjoy the last chapter, which is really more of an epilogue, and if you have the time, please consider reviewing!

"Epilogue"

"I can hardly believe this," Rose whispered, staring at the doors of the newly grown TARDIS. There it stood, the same as ever. A huge wooden box with glowing letters at the top identifying it as a police public call box. It was deep blue, more beautiful than she remembered. Even the sign on the door was the same. Free for use of public, it said. Just stepping through those doors would mean adventures she had only dreamed of for five years. There were so many possibilities behind those doors. And yet she was frozen where she stood, almost terrified to enter. Her whole life was about to change again.

"What do you think?" The Doctor asked, sliding his hand into hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Just the same as always, yeah? I sonicked the chameleon circuits to lock permanently on this form. Thought you'd like it more that way. Oh, she is beautiful…"

"It's… it's perfect," Rose said, unable to tear her gaze away from what was little less than a miracle to her. Rose Tyler and the Doctor… in the TARDIS. As is should be. All they had to do was open the door and venture inside, and their lives would begin all over again.

The Doctor smiled to see his wife so awestruck. It had been a long time since he'd seen her very near speechless. He bent over slightly to kiss the top of her head. "What do you say? Should we go in?"

He tried tugging her towards the doors, but she remained rooted where she stood. "I'm… I'm not sure this is real. What if I'm dreaming? I don't want to wake up from this."

He gave her a full-blown grin and said, "Oh, this is definitely a dream, love. But you are very much awake."

The corners of her lip twitched, but she did not smile. Her cheeks tingeing pink, she admitted in a small voice, "I'm… a little scared."

"What?" The Doctor asked, closing the gap of space between them. "Rose Tyler, scared? I've never heard of such a thing! Defender of the Earth, the girl who jumped dimensions and faced Cybermen and Daleks, scared?"

"Stop it," Rose mumbled, blushing deeper.

The Doctor sighed, knowing his lighthearted jokes weren't going to be enough. "What's there to be scared of, sweetheart?"

She looked him straight in the eye, the first time she had taken her gaze off the TARDIS since she'd first lain eyes on it. "What if it's not everything I remember?"

Was that all? The Doctor shook his head and drew her close. "It will be," he assured her, smiling when she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his jacket. She let out a long breath and shut her eyes. The TARDIS. It was here. It was happening to her again. She couldn't believe she was freaking out over this, but she was.

"Let's run her in," the Doctor suggested eagerly, and Rose looked up at him and grinned at long last.

The Doctor wasn't sure what he expected her to say, but it certainly wasn't what she did. "Race you!"

She wrenched herself out of his embrace and ran for the TARDIS doors, and he had no intention of trying to stop her from being the first to enter the magnificent machine. This was hers. After all she had been through to arrive at this moment, she could have being the first on the TARDIS. And the one to decide their first world. And the first to step onto the soil of whatever world she chose. How he loved her! Whatever could make her happy was worth every effort it took to get that smile on her face. Seeing that grin of excitement in her expression as she scrambled for the TARDIS doors and pushed the right one open made him so indescribably happy. His wife and him, out for adventures, exploring new worlds and facing new dangers, and surviving. Thriving. He could see it all now.

Rose stopped the moment she was through that door and just took it all in. Everything was how she remembered. It was all there; the coral, the console, the enormous blue pulsating tube in the center of it with the cylinders that would move towards and away from one another when the Doctor began to fly the machine. The only things missing were all the post-its in circular Gallifreyan that the Doctor had pasted all over the place. She could never read them, but they had been rather decorative. No doubt he'd paste them everywhere again eventually.

So many memories and so many adventures. A tear trickled down her cheek when she realized she was about to make new memories and have new adventures that nobody but her and the Doctor would ever have the likes of. Just like old times.

She felt the Doctor's hand in hers and then his fingers on her cheek as they caught her tear. "Well?" he asked softly.

She let out a choked laugh and managed to nod her approval. "It's perfect."

The Doctor went to the console and idly twisted a few knobs. The machine hummed and he grinned. "Hey there, old girl. Remember me?" Turning back to his wife, he asked, "So, the whole of time and space laid out before us for exploration – where do you want to start?"

"Anywhere," Rose replied without hesitation. Her smile seemed permanently etched onto her face. But with a bit of thought, she added, "Anywhere that's not in the middle of a war zone or something."

"Quite honestly, I can make no promises," the Doctor said only half-jokingly, turning a few more knobs and pulling levers. "All right, then, here we go! Random adventure, yeah? Hold on tight!"

Rose ran to the center console and gripped his hand and a bar on the center console like she used to, practically in ecstasy. The Doctor yanked down on a much larger lever and the TARDIS jerked.

"Allons-y!"

And so ends my story of Rose and the Doctor after their return to Pete's world. I hope you enjoyed it, and I dearly hope you'll review. Hope you're having a good week, dear readers!


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